Have You Heard?
by LeonaWriter
Summary: There's talk of a new angel in Heaven. One who's... been there before? Two different endings. No pairings.
1. Have You Heard?

Have You Heard?

Disclaimer – I'd own all but a couple of the angels mentioned here, but I'm afraid they're Vouched For. By Someone. Anyone else you recongnise is the reason this belongs under the Good Omens Fanfiction Category.

AN: Inspired by a fanfic I read and was written a while back. There will be two optional endings.

---

There was a party going down in Heaven.

This, actually and surprisingly, wasn't that much of a big deal. Parties happened all the time in Heaven – it was part of the whole shtick. Every time anyone repented from their evil ways, the angels threw a do. Usually with tea, scones and ginger beer.

Presently, a small group of angels were approached by one of Gabriel's under-messengers. He was hurrying towards them with a look on his face which, if it hadn't been on an angel, might have been called devious.

"Have you heard?" asked the new angel with an exited air.

"Heard what?"

"Who the new redeemed person is, of course!"

One of the group sighed.

"There are always new souls in heaven."

The remark wasn't didn't have the tone of someone being mean. It was merely stating a fact.

The messenger angel grinned brightly. He looked like a cupid who had just had his old bow and arrow set replaced with, well, a much bigger bow and arrow set. With add-ons.

"You'll never guess who it is!" he continued, regardless of the disparaging looks of the other angels disregarding his news.

"Go ahead and tell us then," said one. Since it would make the messenger happy.

"It's _Kireal_!"

Every angel in the vicinity stared. That name. . . had not been spoken in a very, very long time. A lashing of ginger beer sprayed around one angel, and another choked on a piece of manna bread shaped like party food.

"_Him_? You – you – must have misheard."

No one thought for one instant that the messenger might have been joking, or that there might have been a mistake. To joke with this would have meant to lie, and angels who made mistakes at Gabriel's level didn't tend to stay as angels for very much longer.

"I didn't mishear," insisted the messenger. "It's true. He's _back_."

"But he can't e back," said the angel who had spewed ginger beer everywhere. His companions nodded amongst themselves.

"After all," said another, "look at what he's _done_. It's not that I disagree with any Higher decisions or anything – it's just. . . rather unlikely."

"Well, yes," said the messenger. "But like you say – Higher decisions and all. You can't second guess some things."

"Besides," said one quietly and with a shaky voice. "It's not like he could've ever been the same as all the others on the other side. Think about that thing that – uh, didn't happen."

One of the elder angels elbowed the one that had just spoken.

"We're not supposed to think about the Thing That Didn't Happen," he said in a stage whisper that everyone could hear.

"Well, yes," said the former, mostly unperturbed. "But wasn't that where, I mean when, he first gained the attention of the Higher Ups?"

Contemplative silence greeted the rhetoric statement. It certainly wasn't something that they could argue over. Averting the end of the world as some knew it generally was a way to get one noticed.

"So, uh, where exactly _is_ Kireal, now?" asked the angel who had choked on party food manna.

"I, uh, actually, I haven't actually been able to _see_ him per se. I, you know, the message just got passed along." The messenger seemed of a sudden awfully nervous. "And I've, uh, also heard that he doesn't go by Kireal any more. Heard that he answers to Crowley."

Blank stares, which he answered with a shrug. The kind of shrug that said 'Yes, I know it's silly. No, I don't know why. . . let's just humour the poor boy for know, all right?'.

"Maybe," started the previously quiet one before the messenger could continue, "he's not quite Here yet."

They all ignored the vague hope that had come with what he had said. Mostly because they all felt the same.

"Ah, no," said the messenger, wincing slightly. He expanded. "Not, that is, unless 'In a meeting with the Archangel Michael' counts as not in Heaven. And I rather think it does."

Various of the angels gathered winced in sympathy. Sometimes, there were some things other than demons that an angel had to have support for. Bureaucracy was one of those things. The Archangel Michael was another.

"Hey," said someone suddenly. "I just remembered. Wasn't Aziraphale a part of Michael's old team for a while?"

"Oh. You mean the one who lost his sword? Who got stationed on _Earth_?"

"Yeah. That one. I heard that he had something to do with all this. Does anyone know what happened to him?"

There was a short silence. Then a sound like that of bells in a soft wind as the angels talked amongst themselves.

"You know," said the messenger, who was mostly unheard and in the midst of it all, "that's actually a very good question. . ."


	2. Equivalent Exchange ending one

Have You Heard?

Ending One – Equivalent Exchange

---

In the back of an old, run down yet still full-to-the-roof with books bookshop in Soho, there wasn't a lot of alcohol any more. The key phrase here was, importantly, 'any more'. There once had, in fact, been quite a lot. Some of it had even been of not quite perfect vintage, too. What was more telling was that not only had the occupant of the seat currently in the back room of the shop drunk it, but that it had stayed the same vintage, and he had never even noticed.

Well. Maybe never noticed was pushing it. He had after all become even more depressed after that.

When most humans in his situation drank, it usually thought that they were drowning their sorrows. He had a number of very important issues with this.

The first one was that Aziraphale's sorrows couldn't be drowned, at least not conventionally with human alcohol, as much as the angel tried. In fact, it would be more truthful to say that his sorrows were amphibious, on the large side – if by 'on the large side' you mean big enough to be mistaken for the old leviathans that Crowley had always scowled at for being such more impressive serpents – and enjoyed performing water acrobatics in his mind, splashing any and all of his even possibly heartening thoughts, so that any that did come to mind made him just as miserable if not more so than before.

What made it all worse, was that he knew that it was all his own fault. He couldn't blame anyone else on this.

He should have known, really, when he had first gazed upon a real, honest to goodness _book_, presented in all its glory with two covers and a spine, pages all sewn intricately in one by one and every single letter hand written with delicacy. The calligraphy had been true art.

He should have known, really, that an angel of God wasn't supposed to have to refrain from drooling on the desk. When Crowley had simply _smirked_ that next time they had met, but hadn't said anything.

And so, it had all come to a head at last, and he should have seen it coming, really, except that he never had wanted to, never had thought that it would be possible, really. Never taken the demon's convoluted and twisted warnings seriously – he was an angel. He thwarted. That was what he did, and what he had been on Earth for all this time.

He wasn't supposed to be the one _being_ thwarted.

It had been normal, as normal as life – or was that existence? – ever really got around a being like him. It hadn't been dark. It hadn't been stormy. It had even been the middle of the day. To anyone else, what had occurred had probably seemed like a simple argument, where one of them ran off and the other simply stared behind dark sunglasses. Aziraphale hadn't looked back after he had realised what he had done and what it meant, but he couldn't keep that look of shock Crowley had been wearing right before he fled out of his mind.

It was hard, very hard, to forget anything when you were an angel. . . or a demon.

The wireless kept in a cabinet near where the drinks had been kept started to fizzle and crackle with what he assumed to be static, which confused him since he hadn't turned the thing on.

He had assumed wrongly, for the second time that day.

". . . _fzz_ ... and here I think you'll see the carrots are AH, THERE YOU ARE. WE THOUGHT THAT WE MIGHT FIND YOU HERE."

Aziraphale groaned slightly into his hands, and sobered mostly up.

EVER SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY. PAPERWORK. A LOT OF NEW FILES NEEDED FOR A NEW SUBORDINATE. I'M SURE THAT WE'LL FIGURE OUT WHERE TO PUT YOU SOONER OR LATER.. . so you see? It's not really that they-"

Aziraphale turned the thing off, not wanting to hear any more of the gardeners' hour of wherever the radio was tuned in to.

He was suffering the consequences of his own mistake. What was worse was that, once again, he was hardly even drunk.

---

A little over a week later, and Aziraphale had started to think that if he was going to be treated like a demon in the eyes of everyone who he had ever known and never wanted to know, he might as well make the most of the perks. After all, it was hardly as though anyone ever expected a demon – never mind the fact that said demon was currently still wearing tweed and tartan, because that was what he _liked_ – to reserve before going to the Ritz.

What he _hadn't_ expected, was for Crowley to already be there, sitting glumly at the table they usually went to and staring into his wine glass as if it held the answers to life, the universe, everything, and the reason everything but specifically Aziraphale, had gone to hell. Luckily for the ex-angel, no handbaskets had been involved.

Hesitantly, unsure as to whether he was still welcome there, Aziraphale meandered over to the demon. . . no, he wasn't, not anymore, there was such a bright presence around him that made Aziraphale wonder briefly whether that was what he had used to feel like. Halfway there and stuck in between two tables, Crowley looked up at him, unerringly finding his face in the crowd with eyes still hidden by expensive sunglasses. Waved him over.

Both expressions mirrored the other's. Sad, frightened, hopeful and relieved. Aziraphale sat down opposite the demon – angel, he had to remind himself, Crowley's an angel now, you're the demon – and the other motioned for the waiter for a second order.

". . . So," Said Crowley eventually, once half the food had been eaten, but before dessert. "We're on opposite sides now."

Aziraphale nodded, not meeting the other's sunglasses.

"Again," the newly reinstated angel said, emphasising the word slightly.

"Well, yes," Aziraphale said at last, concerned for his old rival who was seeming to be not quite right in the head. These things were obvious.

Crowley had started to look at him strangely, and if he hadn't known better he would have said it was Crowley's 'I'm thinking of how to tempt you' look, except now that Crowley was an angel, he couldn't tempt, so it didn't make sense any more.

"Um," he continued, not quite sure how to say what he was going to say next, but knowing that it needed to be said anyway. "About the – you know. The Arrangement. Is it. . . ?"

Crowley shook his head, and for one horrifying moment he thought that everything was now called off and cancelled.

"If I'd wanted it called off, we wouldn't be sitting in here and eating with almost civil grace, now would we?" Crowley said, sarcasm dripping off of his tongue. Moments later however, his nose wrinkled in distaste. "I can't exactly be freely cunning and wily any more, you know. It's a pain. I liked being all cunning and wily. But I'm not even allowed to call it that any more. I'm supposed to be _subtle_, now."

"Like I was, you mean?"

Crowley shook his head.

"Nah. _Not_ like you. I don't much care for the idea of being mistaken for someone's grandfather in tartan. Thanks, but no thank you."

Aziraphale started, affronted.

"Excuse me, I do not-!"

Crowley had just snorted into his wine glass.

"Bit vain of you, Aziraphale?"

Eyes narrowed, the ex-angel glared at the ex-demon, who was by now sloshing his drink around in its glass as carefree as you like.

"I thought you weren't supposed to bait me like that any more," he said slowly.

Crowley smirked and looked over the tops of his sunglasses, revealing eyes that still looked exactly like Crawly's had, all those millennia ago.

"Since when have you ever known _us_ to do what we were _supposed_ to do? No one's come back down here to drag me back Up There for baiting you. Besides, you didn't seem to care about any of that stuff before. Why worry now?"

Eyes wide, Aziraphale opened his mouth once, then closed it again, not having thought of anything sensible to say to that. He tried the motion a few more times, each with no more success than the first.

In the end, Crowley's smirk grew its way into a full-blown grin.

"Just go ahead and admit it for once, Aziraphale. I'm right, aren't I?"

With a sigh and the first smile that he had made since the incident a week ago, Aziraphale did.

"Arrangement goes unchanged, too. Just switch your rules for mine and vice versa." Noticing that something he had said had stricken the ex-angel, Crowley crossed his arms. "What?"

"This. . . doesn't mean that I'll have to take over Manchester, does it? I certainly wouldn't want you to take over.."

"No. Just. . . _no_."

Crowley shuddered, likely at the thought of spending so much time with people who had been nurtured by Aziraphale for so long – and probably wore tartan, tweed, and knew next to nothing about the latest slang and gadgets.

Aziraphale on the other hand, sighed with relief. Maybe he could get used to this. He had, after all, been getting used to the demon – now an angel, that would need some getting used to – for well over six millennia by now, and the Arrangement for just a bit longer than one thousand.

It was like Crowley had said, after all. . . it's not too bad, once you get used to it.

---

AN: The next (and final, alternative ending chapter) should be up soon. I have, after all, practically finished that one, whereas this thing was typed up all in just a few hours o_O To Persikka, I hope this thing here pleased you, and answered your questions.


	3. Never Be Lonely ending two

Have You Heard?

Alternate Ending – Never Be Lonely

Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens. I _do_ lay claim to Angel Crowley, however. Or is that Angel Crowley vers. 2.0?

---

It was a clear and balmy day in London, but for all the warmth and overall good feelings about in the air caused by the masses of angels celebrating, it might well have been barmy for one occupant of the Ritz, sitting alone at a table and eating his lunch in silence.

Aziraphale knew that he should be feeling joy, should be ecstatic on the behalf of his friend. But he could reluctantly admit that he was not joyous, and was certainly not ecstatic. He knew what ecstasy of the divine kind felt like, and this wasn't it.

It was silly, really. Why should he, Aziraphale, feel even slightly upset that the person who had been his enemy for the larger part of their associations with each other, was now on his side? Why should he feel at all miffed about that? He wasn't miffed. Not really. Much.

But the truth of the matter was that since they weren't opposing forces any more, it was probably going to be one or the other of them stationed on Earth at any given time. Heaven didn't need two agents. They'd probably think that sending Crowley was a bad thing, even, seen as how he had spent so long there tempting people and it really was a bit of an ingrained habit by now.

And Aziraphale would be simply left there, probably forgotten about, and definitely. . . lonely. With a new demon on the other side who most likely would not take kindly to even a hint of an Arrangement, wouldn't know which wine was from 1289 and which from 1875 simply by the look and taste of it, without even having to smell. The kind of person who would, without thinking anything of it, cause irredeemable damage to his books – just to get at _him_.

Crowley would never have done that. But Crowley wasn't likely to be coming back any time soon.

The angel groaned in a mixture of frustration and lonely melancholy, and reached for the bottle yet again, turning the wine into another of his favourites.

His hand never reached the tinted glass. Someone else's got there before him.

Without needing to think on it, he sobered himself up by reflex and looked up in disbelief.

"_Crowley?!_"

The ex-demon nervously adjusted his sunglasses.

"That's me," he said, tone matching his body language. "Or at least, I should hope it is. I'm actually starting to wonder."

"But – but – what are you doing here? I thought . . ."

"What?" A little of the old confidence returned and he sat in the empty seat across from the angel. Er, other angel. "That I'd be kept up there playing halos and harps for another decade or so? Nah. They need me."

At the dubious look that Aziraphale sent him – and likely not aware that he was even doing so – Crowley spread his hands slightly and shrugged.

"What can I say? It's true. Heaven needs me. It's hardly like you'd be any use down here on your own when Down There's going to have their next agent up and about ASAP. The only demon you've ever known in the last few centuries- "

"Millennium, actually," Aziraphale cut in helpfully.

"Yeah, that, is – well, me. You know zilch nada about demons in general. Which is where I come in," he finished proudly, raising a glass full of fine wine.

The blond angel scrutinised him for a few moments. Crowley was different. He hadn't known what to expect for when they finally did meet back up again, but having the truth thrown in his face, divine presence and all, was somewhat daunting. Crowley was friendly. Crowley was reassuring. Crowley was teasing. Crowley was willing to let him cut in at the middle of a sentence without issuing mild threats.

It wasn't, actually, bad. It also wasn't actually not Crowley. There had been several times over the past thousand years or more that certain of these more angelic qualities had come out, not that the demon Crowley had been would ever have acknowledged them. Quite a few of them had happened while they were drunk. Most had occurred during the last few months since the Armageddon that wasn't. Everything was simply out in the open now, and the only major difference was that the ex-demon didn't have too be afraid of showing that he was capable of being compassionate.

The only problem with this was that he almost definitely was also very much of a serpent at heart, and had grown far too used to life among humans. Heaven probably hadn't known quite what to do with him. Crowley probably enjoyed confusing them, too, Aziraphale thought light heartedly, trying to stop a smile from coming to his face.

"I. . . see," he finally said after a few minutes of silence. Crowley only nodded vaguely and had some more wine. When Aziraphale looked down at his plate to try to gather his thoughts into something more organised, however, he noticed that it was emptier than before. He sent a disapproving look the ex-demon's way.

"What?" He actually managed to sound innocent enough to be automatically targeted as the culprit, yet not guilty enough to sound like he actually cared. Typical Crowley. "What's mine is yours, right?"

Aziraphale simply shook his head with a smile, almost content simply to exist in the moment. There was one thing that was bothering him, though. . .

"Crowley. . .?"

"Yeah."

"Would you mind telling me why, if you're an angel now, you still need your glasses?" _And that amount of red and black, _he mentally added. Not that he was going to criticise the ex-demon on his fashion sense aloud – angel or not, his own choice of clothes had always left something to be desired for the serpent – _but really. . _.

Crowley smirked.

"Felt like it," he said, taking off the glasses. Underneath were the same snake eyes as always, and somewhere deep inside Aziraphale was glad. Crowley's eyes were a part of him. It would have been strange to look at him and not have the second or third thing he thought to be '_he looks like a snake'_. "Of course," Crowley said with a self-conscious cough as he continued, "All the others tried talking me out of keeping them, but I said that even though snakes _were_ supposed to be the bad guys, I was the one who started all the snake business. Besides, snakes themselves were always still His creatures." He laughed. "Not much they could say to that."

Aziraphale smiled. He was certain that the other had put it in such terms that the hadn't been able to say very much. He always had had a way with words.

"Do you need a place to stay?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Nah. Easier just to go back to where I was and all. Still got the Bentley, too. . ." he said, drifting off with fond pride for the car that had seen him through the dreaded symbol of the M25. His expression turned to something rather more sour a moment later. "Just wish I could keep my name too," was the depressed statement.

"Oh?"

Crowley ducked his head and hissed.

"They keep calling me that other name," he said. Though to Aziraphale it sounded more like a whine.

"And what's wrong with that? Kirael's not a bad name."

Crowley snorted. "_I _know that. It was mine, after all."

"Then what's wrong?" asked the book-loving angel in concern.

"What's _wrong_ is that I happen to _like_ the name Anthony Crowley. It's mine. I like it."

Aziraphale smiled and patted Crowley's hand lightly a couple of times.

"There, there, my dear. If you like it so much then I'm sure the others will, ah, compensate for you. They're really nice chaps if you get past the whole, ah. . ."

"No taste and no sense of humour thing?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say it in those words, but yes." Taking another glance at his plate, he found that it was now empty. Admittedly it wasn't wholly due to Crowley, but for some reason he didn't feel like ordering any more. Calling the waiter over, he asked for two things; the bill, and a bag full of bread scraps. It was a wild stray thought that found him considering - _maybe Crowley won't even try to drown the ducks. Maybe_.

He had to admit to himself that it wasn't likely, though one could hope.

Either way, things were looking much better than they had when he had started the meal.

----

AN: There. The end of Angel! Crowley and Aziraphale.

Aziraphale ends up paying for everything, and Crowley still _does_ dunk the ducks ;D

The 'chapter' title comes from a song by The Feeling, called Never Be Lonely. It's about people who're in love (and the Aziraphale-Crowley relationship here is much more platonic than that), but some parts just seemed to fit so well into this short story idea that I'd have been a fool not to use the reference.


End file.
